


A Found Family

by tired_alexander



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Canon Era, Gen, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Racetrack Higgins, Trans Spot Conlon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 04:32:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11729562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tired_alexander/pseuds/tired_alexander
Summary: The story of how Spot came to be the leader of Brooklyn, how he found a family that shared a similar secret, and how he met Racetrack Higgins.





	1. So You Too, Huh?

**Author's Note:**

> Taking a break from writing my current fic, really wanted to write Trans!Spot content! In this world the concept of binders DO exist, but there is not a term for being trans. It is taboo in the heteronormative society, but it does exist. In the next chapter there will be mentions of ace bandages being used to bind - DO. NOT. DO. THAT. I will personally come yell at you if I find out you're binding with ace bandages!!! Get a binder from GC2B! 
> 
> Okay, enough ranting. Please enjoy! Chapter 2 coming soon....maybe tonight! :D
> 
> Come talk with me about Trans!Spot over at my Tumblr, @tired-alexander!

To most of the citizens of New York, all of the newsies were exactly the same - they were all boys, from young kids to teens, all grubby and sickly looking and smelly. No one ever paid any attention to these boys unless they were buying the day’s paper, god forbid you touch their dirty hands while giving them a coin in exchange for a paper.

To the newsies however there was brotherhood, friendship, rules, even an undeclared hierarchy. The most known groups of newsies were in Manhattan, The Bronx, Richmond County, Woodside, Flushing and, most importantly, Brooklyn. The most respected (or feared, it depended on who you asked) leader of all the newsies in New York City lived there, and his name was Spot Conlon. The Brooklyn Newsies were terrifying as it was - rough and tough demeanors and ready to kick anyone who challenged them to the curb. Even the smallest Brooklyn boy could hurt you in some fashion.

However, no one had ever seen Spot Conlon ever hurt anyone. Ever. He didn’t need to, he had his newsies do his “dirty work” for him. And it’s not like they were being oppressed by Spot, no, they were the ones you would hear the word “respected” come from. They did the “dirty work”, which in all honestly was just petty theft and spying on whereabouts and the like and getting into fights for honor and revenge, and while they would beat you within an inch of your life (if need be) they didn’t 99% of the time. No one was willing to kill, no matter how scary they were to the other boys - no one wanted to risk going to jail. And Spot had earned his place and was the protector of his brothers, his family. He had every newsie’s respect, and that’s what mattered.

Which was important, because Spot was born a girl.

_____________________

There wasn’t a name for it, but Spot had known he was a boy since he was a little kid. He wanted short hair and to run around with the other boys and to wear pants instead of skirts and have people mistake him for a boy instead of a girl. His parents had hated him for it and had kicked him out of their shoddy house at the age of 10. They thought he was “unnatural” and “just plain wrong” and so many other horrible words and phrases, but he knew who he was and was okay with it. Honestly he was glad to go, he didn’t need them anyways.

Before he had been kicked out he had stolen enough money from his mother’s rough handbag - he knew something was wrong, so he was prepared. With the money he took he was able to go to a quaint barbershop and get a haircut and stop by an inexpensive clothing store and get some clothes. Then he just started walking.

He kept walking all day until his feet were sore and the sun was almost all the way set. He found a bench on the side of the road and laid down and held himself as the air grew chilly.

 _Thank god it’s early summer an’ not da middle o’ winter er somethin’...._ Spot had thought.

Then a hand was on his shoulder and he sat up, turned and punched the stranger before they could say hello. Spot took a second and collected himself, and looked at the stranger - it was a young boy, looking about 16 or so, now lying on the ground holding his arm with a bruise already forming.

“Jeez bud, no need ta be punchin’ people, I’m sorry I scared ya though. I jus’ saw you’re tryin’ ta sleep on da bench an’ I thought I’d offer ya a place ta spend da night er somethin’...” The boy stood up and stretched, then went to grab his hat that had fallen a few feet away. He was well built for his lean frame, with long dark brown hair pulled back with a piece of cloth. He was dressed like all of the newsboys he saw around Brooklyn (Brooklyn newsies all tried to wear red to show their solidarity and what borough they were from) but this one had a dirty blue handkerchief around his neck.

_Maybe he’s important er somethin’.....?_

“Okay, now that I’ve collected myself, heya,” the boy smiled lightly and stuck out his hand to Spot, which he nervously took. “The name’s Snaps, I’m da leader of da Brooklyn Newsies.”

_OH HE’S IMPORTANT. FUCK._

“Oh, oh I’m sorry fer punchin’ ya sir, I didn’ mean ta…….oh jeez, I’m really sorry, please don’t hurt me….” Snaps just laughed.

“None of that ‘sir’ business, jus’ Snaps. Actually, I was gonna invite ya ta come back to da newsies’ lodgin’ house wit’ me, looked like ya could use some help. A place ta sleep an’ stay safe, an’ offer ya the chance ta be a newsie.” Spot was about to protest that he didn’t need any help when Snaps cut him off. “An’ before ya say anythin’, someone that ‘aint need any help’ don’t sleep on a bench. C’mon, follow me.” He stopped and turned to look at him. “Oh, what’s yer name, kid?”

“.......Spot.”

Spot didn’t want to give his real name, one cause it was too girly and didn’t want to be seen as a girl and two he didn’t want to be at risk of someone he knew knowing it was him if they ran into him. Cause then they would know why he was kicked out, just looking at him. Besides, it had been a nickname his whole life, thanks to his freckles. So he went with it.

On the way to the lodging house Snaps explained about the life of newsies and how the system worked, and about the newsies themselves.

“...an’ Brooklyn newsies are da most respected of ‘em all in New York City. ‘Specially me, yer lucky I found ya, kid.” He smirked. “Ya could be in da Bronx or ‘hattan, but yer wit’ us - you’s lucky. We’re here.” Suddently, Snaps grew serious and stopped in front of the buliding.  
“But there’s somethin’ ya gotta know, an’ if ya so much as run an’ tell da bulls if ya don’t agree, I will PERSONALLY see that you don’t exist.”

He was terrified, but Spot nodded at Snaps’ words.

“‘Bout half of da boys here were not born boys, but they ARE boys. Plain an’ simple. We see ‘em as boys, they feel like boys, they are boys. Me included. DO NOT EVER be rude. Most of us were kicked from our families fer bein’ ourselves an’ by bein a newsie, we have new lives. We take in those that need help. Ya got that?”

When Snaps looked at Spot’s face, all he saw was wide eyes and a look of hope and happiness. Maybe a few tears too. He smiled warmly.

“Well I’ll be damned. So you too, huh? Let’s go, brother. I’ll introduce ya to da fellas.”

_____________________

And that was how it all began. Spot was immediately accepted into the Brooklyn Newsies and started to rise in rank. He was strong, not just physically but also mentally and could take the brunt of any bigotry the boys faced. It was hard, but he did it for them. For all of the boys that were old enough to have noticeable chests, they stole binders when they could - the black market was wonderful - and made them with cloth and what meagre sewing skills they possessed. There was a change jar kept on a shelf in the lounging room that was strictly designated for haircuts when they were needed and a closet of cotton squares for when it was their time of the month. Of course, not all of the boys needed these things, but for the boys that did, they supported them and helped out as much as they could.

The day a boy turned 18 (the owner of the lodging house took a birthday for record’s sake, no matter if it was real or not - he just needed a kick out date and could judge what ) he had to leave the lodging house and get a different job. It was horrible, but it needed to be done so new boys who needed the work and had little experience could have a place to stay. It was also good for the boys who had to live as girls in the future, so they could have years of happiness as their true selves before they had to, sadly, hide their gender from their peers.

The day Snaps turned 18 he brought Spot up to the roof of the lodging house, said they needed to talk. They went and sat at the edge, legs through the railing, viewing the people below.

Snaps began. “So Spot…..it’s been 2 years since we met. An’ today…..” he hesitated, “.....is my 18th birthday.

Spot’s eyes blew wide. “It’s yer birthday, why didn’t ya tell us? We woulda celebrated!” The Brooklyn boys always looked for reasons to celebrate, especially birthdays. It was a good, happy time in the lives of the boys.  
“That’s exactly why I DIDN’T tell you an’ da fellas, Spot. I didn’t want there ta be a big to-do ‘bout it…..but ya also know da rule….I gotta skedaddle by tomorrow mornin’. So I needed ta bring ya up here an’ talk ta ya fer a reason. When I leave...there’s gotta be someone ta take care of our boys.”

“Ya mean….?”

“Yeah, I do. I’m puttin’ ya in charge, Spotty Boy.” He looked at Spot fondly and ruffled his hair. Spot ducked away and smiled. “I know yer only 12, at least yer almost 13, but I know da fellas respect ya. An’ ya know how to deal wit’ horrible people. Yer strong, ya can do this. So this, my brother, is now yours.” He untied the signature symbol of leadership, the blue handkerchief, from around his neck and tied it around Spot’s. It suited him, and Spot’s eyes sparkled.

“Ya mean it? Really? Ya trust me wit’ this, are ya sure I can do it?” He grew more nervous the more questions he asked.

“Spot, I know ya. You’ve got a good heart an’ a strong soul, I trust ya to lead these boys. Take care of ‘em. And,” he got up and grabbed a box that was hidden near the ladder to the roof, “I know it’s my birthday but I have a present for ya.” He sat back down and put the box in Spot’s lap. “Open it.”

Spot was giddy, it’s not often you get presents when it’s your birthday, and it’s really not often when you’re a newsie. He opened the box and pulled out it’s contents. It was…

“A binder?”

Snaps nodded. “Yeah, it’s a binder. Top o’ da line, too. Stole it a while back, I’ve been usin’ it fer years, but I won’t be needin’ it no more. Thought I would pass it on to ya. Noticed ya started usin’ one of da handmade ones recently, thought this would suit ya better in yer position of leadership, and ya can give the handmade one ta one of da others. It’s a bit big on ya now, but I think it’ll do until yer too big ta wear it. Eight hours at a time, though, don’t wanna hurt them ribs of yers. That okay? Ya don’t need ta keep it if -”

Spot put the box to the side and tackled Snaps in a big hug.

“Thank you, Snaps. Fer everythin’. You’ve changed my life.”

“It’s no problem, Spotty Boy. Alright,” he stood up to head back down, “I’m gonna go grab my stuff that I packed an’ head out. I already said my goodbyes. Feel free ta do some thinkin’ while yer up here, it’s a good thinkin’ place...I’m out.” He turned away. “Take care of yerself, Spot Conlon.” Tears fell down his cheeks. He felt arms wrap around him from the back and a head against his back.

“Love ya brother, be good an’ you’ll be happy.”  
When Spot went back inside, he was greeted by Knight and Bishop (they loved chess), two of his friends that came into the lodging house together around the same he did, though they were a few years older. They smiled at him in pride and a hint of joke-filled mockery.

“So, what’s first, Boss?” Knight asked, and Bishop snorted.

Spot rolled his eyes and grinned. “God, that better not become a nickname.”


	2. Yeah, Me Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4 years after Snaps leaves, Spot meets someone new.

Under Spot Conlon’s leadership the Brooklyn newsies were happier than they had ever been. They found more ways to provide for the boys who came in, finally learning the best way how to sew binders and even selling them on the black market to make more money, in turn having enough money so they were never hungry and never ashamed of who they were. It was a good system. The boys even had the option to take a day off every once in awhile when they were sick to recover, because they didn’t have to worry about money.

Snaps had left 4 years ago, and Spot was 16. He came back sometimes to visit around the holidays, brought blankets and some little trinkets and food. Occasionally he got stopped before coming in, though, because he looked like a lady now. He’d found a job in a flower shop that paid well enough that he lived a little less than comfortable - but he had to look like a lady. He still dressed like a man on his days off, but his hair was even longer and he was clean and wore perfume when he visited. He hated it, but he did what he had to do to survive.

The Brooklyn newsies had built up an even bigger reputation as rough and tough. Spot had learned in his first year with the boys, back under Snaps’ leadership, that the “tough” act wasn’t only an act. Yes, they were scary and were a force to be reckoned with but it was only partially true. Some of the boys did not look like boys, no matter how much they tried, and unless they were feared by others they would be looked down upon and judged. Even if the other boroughs were accepting or had newsies like Brooklyn did, they asserted themselves any way they could as men and men only. There was a need to prove themselves.

In his first year, Spot had witnessed a gang of random boys picking on one of his brothers, whose voice was a bit higher and whose hair was on the longer side, but he liked it that way. He found a long branch near a tree and ran at the group of boys (some say there were 3, some say 6) but he beat the crap out of them, got them to run after him into an alleyway, and he came out unscathed. Those boys were never seen in that part of Brooklyn again. And, mind you, Spot was 11. He was a powerful little shit then, and had been getting stronger since. And that was the day he gained his fellow brothers’ respect, when he came back into the lodging house afterwards with the boy holding onto his shoulders giving him a piggy-back ride to cheer him up and telling him stories. And the story of his heroics spread over New York City, and he never looked back.

Spot was a real softie when the moment called for it. Other than that, you didn’t cross him.

______________________

It was summer and Spot was walking along the docks near Sheepshead, savoring the slight breeze that came from the crashing waves. It had been an uncharacteristically lazy day for Spot, he could afford to take a day off, and he was enjoying every second. He had just stopped for a small sandwich when he heard a groan coming from an alleyway to his left. He shook his head, wondering if he was hearing things, but then he heard it again. He followed the small whimpers that followed until he found a girl a year or so younger than himself curled into a tight ball against the dirty wall of the alley. She was skinny as a stick, had a broken lip, 2 black eyes and blond curly hair that was a mess, a part of it cut short. Her skin was covered in dirt and bruises, and she was wearing a torn shirt and cropped pants.

“Hey, hey miss, are ya alright? Did someone jump ya, how bad are ya hurt?” He crouched down slowly next to her and reached out, putting his hand on her shoulder. Her eyes shot open, glazed in delirium, and said a whispered “help” before fading into an unconscious state. Her front was bleeding a bit, probably a few broken ribs. He picked her up bridal style and ran as fast as he could back to the lodging house. Lord knows even with all of the money they had been saving they couldn’t afford a proper doctor.

He burst through the door and up the stairs to his private room, ignoring the shocked and worried glances that were being thrown his way from the others. He did know, however, that Bishop had followed him up the stairs and was standing in the doorway when he put the girl down on his bed, concern painting his face.

“Yeah, Bish, I know, she’s not allowed in but I found ‘er in an alleyway all banged up, she needs help. Can ya go get me some water an’ one of the longest pieces of cotton we have from da closet? I think she’s bleedin’ on ‘er side.” Bishop nodded and quickly headed back down the stairs.

First thing he did was roll off his suspenders and take off his shirt, binder following suit. He had run all the way from the docks to home, so now his ribs were in pain, but he knew he’d be fine. And it wasn’t like sitting around shirtless wasn’t uncommon in the lodging house; he made it a rule that it was 8 hours max, because everyone tended to get sore after that amount of time. So being shirtless was rather common, especially during the summer, and no one cared - they were all boys, so they were all boy’s chests.

He then set to opening up the girl’s shirt to clean whatever wound was on her abdomen (hoping she wouldn’t care when she woke up) when he encountered ace bandages wrapped around her, no his, chest. Bishop walked back in with the cotton, a towel and a bowl of water and muttered an “oh shit…” before helping Spot unwind the bandage. Together they cleaned and covered the large cuts on his stomach and put the cotton around his chest in proper fashion to help heal his ribs. Spot thanked then sent Bishop back to the boys to deliver the news of what had happened, and asked to not be disturbed. He put a cold towel on the blond boy’s head to hopefully curb whatever fever he may or may not have.

_____________________

When the boy woke up hours later there was a panicked look in his tired eyes. He tried to sit up, but hissed in pain and laid back down on the bed. He looked to his right and saw a grubby, muscley kid with freckles lightly snoring. At first he thought it was a shirtless girl due to the chest, but then he saw the shirt and binder hanging on a hook on the door and the pants with suspenders at the waist and blue handkerchief around the neck, and realized he was just like him. The boy woke up and smiled to see his guest was conscious.

“Heya there bud, ya feelin’ better? Ya gave me a real scare wit’ those bandages around your chest, don’t ever do that. That’s dangerous, pretty sure ya bruised some of yer ribs, ‘specially after whatever fight you were in. Maybe broke one er two. Jus’ take it slow, yer welcome ta stay. Let’s try an’ sit ya up.” He helped the blond boy sit up against the wall, then gave him a cup of water to drink, and slowly he instructed.

“There ya go, kid. The name’s Spot Conlon, I’m da leader of da Brooklyn newsies.” He offered his hand to the boy, who shook it gladly at the recognition of his name.

“I know who ya are, sir, I was tryin’ ta find where da newsies lived after I got kicked from my place for, well, ya can guess what fer,” he gestured to his chest. “The name’s…….Racetrack.” It seemed like he was using the name for himself for the first time, and looked proud too. “Yeah, Racetrack Higgins. Honored ta meet da famous Spot Conlon. Thanks fer helpin’ me out. I got jumped by some boys who’d known me ‘for I left home an’ they nearly beat me ta death. So...yer like me?” He pointed at Spot’s chest.

“Yeah, I’m like ya, so’s a lot of da boys here. I’m assumin’ you’ll be stayin’ wit’ us?” Racetrack nodded. “Well, welcome to da Brooklyn newsies’ lodgin’ house. An’ hey, none o’ that ‘sir’ stuff. Call me Spot...or Boss, but that’s jus’ a stupid nickname from da fellas.”

Race gave a mischievous grin. “Sure thing…..Boss.”

Spot chuckled. “Alright….Race, let me tell ya how things work around here…”.

Spot did tell Race how things worked, and soon Race was his right hand man, and his best friend. Ready to defend Brooklyn and it’s boys, born boys or not. The Brooklyn newsies remained feared by all, but let no one ever be turned away if they needed help, and no one ever was under Spot Conlon and Racetrack Higgins, leaders of Brooklyn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, NEVER bind with ace bandages or anything else improper. Get a binder. Thanks for reading!


End file.
